'Afghan Girl': A picture that captures our humanity

Go to page

ADC

I know that this isnât officially the right forum for me to be posting this picture on, but the more I think about it and the times weâre living in - well the more convinced I am that itâs entirely right. A lot of you will have seen this unforgettable image of the iconic âAfghan Girlâ many times â perhaps even for real on dusty foot-patrols through Afghan villages and shattered townships. As for me, Iâve only ever seen it in Athena stores on greeting cards, or on giant posters in WH Smithâs. But she does remind me of the street children that youâd sometimes see in the back alleys of Basra, or on the long desert highways of Iraq, waving at you from the side of the road as you sped past on an escort job. I always used to wonder what kind of a life awaited themâ¦

Whatever, please check out this picture in the Telegraph and think about it in the context of our current times. I defy you not to be moved by it.

Steve McCurry's portrait of Sharbat Gula, an Afghan refugee, captivated the world after appearing on the June 1985 cover of National Geographic magazine

Her name was Sharbat Gula, which means "sweetwater flower girl" in Pashtu, the language of her Pashtun tribe. But McCurry, and the world, wouldn't know this or any other details of her tragic life until 17 years later.

Sharbat Gula came to Pakistan in 1983 after her parents were both killed in a Soviet air raid on their Afghan village. She had trudged through the jagged mountains in winter for nearly two weeks with her grandmother, brother, and three sisters. She had lived in several refugee camps before coming to the one where McCurry met her.

McCurry said the photo of her "summed up for me the trauma and plight, and the whole situation of suddenly having to flee your home and end up in refugee camp, hundreds of miles away."

In the years after the photo was published, McCurry attempted several times to find Sharbat Gula again, but to no avail. A trip to Pakistan in January 2002 finally bore fruit. He returned to the same refugee camp, still open, and showed her photo around. A man who had lived in that camp as a child recognized the girl and told McCurry he knew her brother. He would go and get her.

Afghanistan has known precious few days of peace since the 1979 Soviet invasion. But years ago, during a lull in the country's many conflicts, Sharbat Gula had returned home to her village in the Tora Bora region. Now, after three days of hiking, the man from the camp returned with her and her family.

We should remember the tremendous contribution of the Queen Mother to the war effort:
As the BBC pointed out, she 'bravely remained in London beside her husband' during the war.
This contrasts sharply with the actions of my grandfather who, on the declaration of war immediately left his wife and children and pissed off, first to France, then North Africa, Italy, France (again) and finally Germany.
The shame will always be with us.

LE

In 1977 an Afghan boy stood on one of my ringpulls, we were sitting drinking beer waiting for the border crossing to open to go into Iran, he bled like a pig so I put a couple of stitches in his foot and gave him Jock Watsons flipflops, his father was one of the Afghan Custom officers, and he thanked me. I have always wondered what happened to him, he was a cheeky little shite and could speak quite good English

And to think, I had no Idea I could bring so much fun and frivolity to others

There are two types of people that dislike me,
the envious and the stupid

HAPPY NOW

P

PrinceAlbert

Guest

In 1977 an Afghan boy stood on one of my ringpulls, we were sitting drinking beer waiting for the border crossing to open to go into Iran, he bled like a pig so I put a couple of stitches in his foot and gave him Jock Watsons flipflops, his father was one of the Afghan Custom officers, and he thanked me. I have always wondered what happened to him, he was a cheeky little shite and could speak quite good English

ADC

Thanks for that brilliant link Boy Syrup, and thanks for sharing that story with us Tropper66 - I can well see how that chance encounter with that cheeky but charming mite will stay with you always. I think lots of soldiers have been touched in similar ways down the years - even the self-styled tough guys!

Sad to say it looks as though she's lived a hard life and known some troubles - old before her time almost. But those incredible eyes still burn with the same luminous blue/green intensity, and her childhood image will always remind us of what it means to be simply vulnerable and human, no matter what our race or creed.

Steven McLaughlin,
Author of Squaddie: A Soldier's Story
And:
Clubland UK: On the Door in the Rave Era

War Hero

In 1977 an Afghan boy stood on one of my ringpulls, we were sitting drinking beer waiting for the border crossing to open to go into Iran, he bled like a pig so I put a couple of stitches in his foot and gave him Jock Watsons flipflops, his father was one of the Afghan Custom officers, and he thanked me. I have always wondered what happened to him, he was a cheeky little shite and could speak quite good English

Did the run across Europe, crossed to the Irish republic, crossed the 'non existent' border into NI then into Belfast and waited out the winter trying to befriend a british soldier who was awaiting the 'assasins bullet' on a cold lonely night in Belfast before offering him the delights of 'brotherly b*m love...

Attachments

LE

In 1977 an Afghan boy stood on one of my ringpulls, we were sitting drinking beer waiting for the border crossing to open to go into Iran, he bled like a pig so I put a couple of stitches in his foot and gave him Jock Watsons flipflops, his father was one of the Afghan Custom officers, and he thanked me. I have always wondered what happened to him, he was a cheeky little shite and could speak quite good English

LE

In 1977 an Afghan boy stood on one of my ringpulls, we were sitting drinking beer waiting for the border crossing to open to go into Iran, he bled like a pig so I put a couple of stitches in his foot and gave him Jock Watsons flipflops, his father was one of the Afghan Custom officers, and he thanked me. I have always wondered what happened to him, he was a cheeky little shite and could speak quite good English

War Hero

War Hero

She was twelve years old when that photo was taken.
Give thanks to which ever Deity/sky God fairy you choose to believe in, that it wasn't your daughter.
Still, thats the problem with all these foreign heathen, they all so love it up them

Her breasts were like ripe strawberries, but much bigger, a completely different colour, not as bumpy, and without the little green things on top.